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nationwide. 'The Kitty Kat Club'. An homage to her favourite musical film, Cabaret , changing it from Kit to Kitty to give it a more modern and cutting edge feel. It was sassy, frothy and legendary and she was sure that it would have the allure to become the sound-filled destination of choice for those who had the right look.
    As she watched Riley’s majestic ass move out of sight, Amy pulled the pillows towards her, squeezed them tightly and buried her head into their softness, stifling an excited squeal as she did so. She knew that the club would work.
    She wasn’t wrong …

3
    Then, May 2015, Manchester
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    â€˜ C an you pass the loo roll under, Laura? I’ve used the last piece and I’m sure as hell not risking dripping dry,’ said Amy, reaching down to stick her hand under the toilet cubicle wall at what had become Manchester's number one nightclub, The Kitty Kat Club.
    â€˜It’s yours,’ replied Laura Cash, a flurry of lace clothing and unmanaged hair in the next cubicle, as she pushed the toilet roll into Amy’s hand. ‘We need to get back to the dance floor and work those celebs, have you seen who’s in tonight?’ I think Eighties Night could be your finest moment yet, Amy. This place is becoming hotter than hell for your A-list celebrity and they appear to love a theme night. Everybody loves the retro vibe, even if most of them weren’t born when the eighties slipped into view. Half of soapville’s here, I’ve seen at least three X Factor champions and their clingy entourages and enough Made In Chelsea stars to make me think that SW3 in London must be a ghost town tonight. It is SW3, isn’t it? Chelsea? Oh who cares? London’s loss, Kitty Kat’s gain. And I suppose you’ve seen …’ Laura paused for effect before finishing her sentence. ‘… him? O M freaking G – no wonder this place has the ultimate reputation! I am so proud of you, Amy. What was it DJ magazine said about it ...?’
    Amy joined her best friend and the woman who had helped her launch The Kitty Kat Club at the huge mirror screwed to the length of the toilet wall, passing her hands under the tap and then running them through her equally explosive hair. They could have used the office toilets provided for the staff, but Laura was insistent that the best gossip was always heard in the ladies’ loo. She wasn’t wrong. She’d already heard a winner of a US TV model show bemoaning to her stick-thin pal about how her latest squeeze, a top telly chef, ‘would have to go, as his fucking food is too calorific and I’ve already lost two contracts as I’ve ballooned to a size two. My agent is livid’. Laura, a woman who believed in the joy of food and curves had wanted to slap her, but Amy would never have forgiven her and the fallout on blogs and websites could have been catastrophic.
    Amy’s dark roots contrasted in perfect eighties Ciccone-chic fashion with the mass of blonde swirls circling her face. They were both rocking the Like A Virgin Madonna look for the monthly step back in time night, a change to their normal ‘uniform’ of Dior, Prada and Stella McCartney.
    Amy cleared her throat and began, pride bursting forth. ‘And I quote,’ she grinned. ‘“The Kitty Kat Club has become, in a short space of time, the favoured social haunt and haven for celebrities keen to be seen – a melting pot of models, megastars and most-wanteds with a dazzlingly dangerous air of decadence that the fashionable in-crowd thrive on …” or words to that effect, anyway. I believe DJ magazine went on to say, “Owner Amy Hart, and her sharp-suited husband, Riley, make the perfect team when it comes to pushing a club that will go down in the annals of Manchester history as the neon-floored nirvana to hang out at. Their range of theme nights and blistering superstar DJ sets cater for all of the UK’s